


a dish best served cold

by musingsofvenus



Category: Kill Bill (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF Leah Clearwater, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Gen, Mild Sexual Content, Revenge, The pack are real werewolves, Vampire Bella Swan, Vampires have fangs and are not vegetarian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musingsofvenus/pseuds/musingsofvenus
Summary: Former assassin Leah Clearwater wakes from a coma four years after Sam Uley attempts to murder her on her wedding day. Fueled by an insatiable desire for revenge, she vows to get even with every person who contributed to the death of her younger brother and her fiance, and the loss of four years of her life.
Relationships: Bella Swan/Angela Weber, Jacob Black/Bella Swan, Leah Clearwater/Laurent, Leah Clearwater/Sam Uley (past), Quil Ateara V/Eric Yorkie, Sam Uley/Emily Young
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	1. the blood-splattered bride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Kill Bill AU that was manifested [on my tumblr](https://musingsofvenus.tumblr.com/post/640749747249053696/even-more-updates-5-chapters-completed-i-have/) a few weeks ago. A face cast is available [here](https://musingsofvenus.tumblr.com/post/642137202832359424/theres-more-info-in-my-writing-masterpost-linked/)! Both links contain spoilers FYI. Enjoy!!

Charlie has to drive with windows down yet again because the AC in the cruiser won’t work, and he refuses to bring it into the shop to get fixed. Hot, sticky air blows against his face as he speeds down the road.

He switches the station on the radio and wipes the sweat from his brow.

_“Come on out to Shreveport, y’all. This is jazz and blues rhythms on KTRN, Caddo Parish. And next on the track is the newest single from our very own, Randy Crawford.”_

As he drives further down the road, the number of houses become fewer and smaller, and the Spanish moss becomes thicker. The paved road turns into a dirt road covered in patches of moss and surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers. 

He spots Waylon standing near a cluster of trees wrapped in caution tape. He waves with a grim expression on his face.

_“Cajun moon, where does your power lie_

_As you move across the southern sky_

_You took my babe way too soon_

_What have you done, Cajun m–”_

Charlie turns the engine off and tosses the keys into the passenger seat. He removes his aviators to mop his face with a handkerchief. Waylon walks to the car with hands on his hips, squinting under the rays of the sun.

“Well?” Charlie says, bracing himself. “Gimme the gory details.”

“It’s a goddamn massacre, if I’ve ever seen one,” Waylon informs him. “Whole wedding party got wiped out by some giant animals, by the looks of it. Except the bride.”

Charlie pauses as he exits his car. “What about ‘er?” he asks.

“Looks like she got slashed in the face by whatever animal ran through here, but she died from two bullets.” Waylon makes a gun with his fingers and taps his temple. “Execution style.”

“Shit,” Charlie grunts. He rubs a hand over his mustache. What a way to start a Thursday morning. “Alright. Let’s see what we got.”

They duck under the caution tape. The ground is covered in mud, wildflowers and greenery. When they get to the scene of the crime, everything is stained bright red and littered with viscera. The air reeks of death.

Charlie removes his hat and whistles. “My word,” he breathes. “What kinda crazy fucker would do such a thing?”

“Maybe not so crazy,” Waylon hedges. “It’s a rampage alright, but it’s too neat. There’s no animal tracks. The hounds can’t even catch a scent out here. Whoever did this, they’re real good.”

“How the hell can someone organize somethin’ like _this_ around here?” Charlie wonders. 

“Don’t know, sir,” Waylon says. “You heard them stories about werewolf sightings on the news? They can live forever, and they got scary blue eyes. Bullets don’t hurt ‘em neither.”

“Don’t you start with that nonsense again. It’s a load of hoodoo crap. Ain’t no bullet proof werewolves howlin’ at the moon or slaughterin’ folks,” Charlie warns. “There’s a logical explanation for all this.” He steps around the bodies and blood splatter, crouching beside the felled woman in the gauzy white dress. “Who’s the bride?”

“The name on the marriage certificate says Julia Jones.”

Charlie snorts. “That’s a fake.”

“Figured that. We’ve been callin’ her The Bride on account of the bouquet in her hand.”

“Whoever did this had to be crazy, messin’ up her face like this,” Charlie says. He leans closer. “She was a good lookin’ gal. Like a… blood-splattered angel.”

An unexpected spurt of blood hitting his face makes Charlie flinch. As he wipes his cheek, he sees a bullet leeching its way out of the woman’s chest. The bullet clatters to the ground, and a trickle of blood leaks from the hole left behind. Seconds later, her chest stutters with a weak gasp.

“Uh, she ain’t dead,” Charlie announces. 

Waylon scrambles over on his knees, removing his hat from his head and holding it to his chest. The bullet wound near the woman’s heart sluggishly closes. The trauma to her face is still ghastly looking, but slowly piecing itself back together. The bullet in her forehead slowly pushes to the surface.

“I told ya! Whattaya make of that!” Waylon yells, pointing frantically at her face. “They’re _real,_ Sheriff!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie is not Bella's father in this universe.
> 
> PLEASE share your thoughts about this fic!!


	2. the massacre at caddo lake

Leah wakes with a gasp, shooting into a sitting position. Her head whips around the room, disoriented. Her nose is bombarded with the scent of antiseptic, staleness and death. Everything in the room is too bright, too vivid. She can’t focus on one sound for too long, and she feels like something is crawling under her skin and ready to burst forth. It’s nauseating.

She leans over the side of the bed and vomits. Her hair, impossibly longer than she remembered, falls around her face like a black curtain. She sits back up when her stomach is finally empty and shakily wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Something scratches against her lips.

Looking down, she notices the band around her wrist. The hospital bracelet reads ‘Jane Doe’ and nothing else. Glancing around the room, she realizes there are other occupants lined against the opposite wall and on either side of her, all asleep.

Leah snatches the TV remote from the bedside table and flips through the channels until she finds a weather channel. Her eyes lock on the lower corner of the screen in horror.

_May 17th, 2010 4:13AM_

“Four years,” she mouths, clutching her middle and slouching forward. “Four fucking years.”

* * *

_Her wedding was held in the deep bayous of nowhere in Louisiana, surrounded by Spanish moss, dark waters and endless greenery. The humidity made her white dress cling to her body like a second skin made of lace, and the bouquet of flowers in her hands wilted by the minute._

_The officiant, an old man and neighbor of Leah’s who she had grown close to, rattled off the closing remarks of his wedding script, but Leah could hardly hear him. Her attention was solely focused on the beautiful man she was marrying on that hot summer day, standing in front of her in a beige linen suit._

_She met him seven months ago in a supermarket, having just moved into one of her safehouses. She was cradling her then three-month old brother, Seth, in one arm while trying to reach for flour with the other. The bag was just out of her reach until someone else grabbed it for her with ease._

_A dark skinned man, with the nicest smile she had ever seen, held out the bag of flour to her. “Your son is beautiful,” he murmured. His voice had a Creole drawl that made his words slow and persuasive._

_Leah automatically opened her mouth to correct him, but thought better of it. “He is,” she said instead, nuzzling her nose against Seth’s. Her eyes turned back to the stranger. “Thank you for grabbing that for me…”_

_“Laurent,” the man supplied. “Laurent Da Revin.”_

_“Thank you, Laurent.”_

_Laurent cocked his head to the side. “You got a name, pretty lady?”_

_She told him her name was Julia Jones, and the rest was history._

_There was something about his perfect smile and his Southern charm that drew Leah in. His pretty brown eyes with gold flecks in them were like molasses, full of sweetness and affection just for her. And his hands, large and strong, played with Seth during the day and held Leah tenderly at night._

_“By the power invested in me by the state of Louisiana, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss.”_

_Laurent cradled her face with his large hands and pressed his lips against hers in a searing kiss. The force of it alone weakened her knees, and she melted against him as he continued to lavish her lips with slick kisses until the officiant uncomfortably cleared his throat._

_They briefly parted from each other with matching mischievous grins. Laurent crushed her to his chest with a deep, imperious laugh that made her stomach do funny things._

_Leah turned her gaze to their audience, a lonely party of two. The officiant’s granddaughter was holding a now ten-month old Seth in her arms. The girl picked up Seth’s hand to wave at the couple, and Leah melted at the sight. She broke from Laurent’s hold to grab up her brother and blow raspberries into his belly._

_Seth giggled with delight and clapped his chubby hands. Behind her, Leah felt Laurent press a kiss to the crown of her head before he gave a loud, smacking kiss to Seth on the cheek. Seth’s giggles grew shrill as he reached out with grabby hands._

_“C’mere, big man,” Laurent cooed, taking Seth and spinning with him in his arms._

_“There was nobody else around to invite to your wedding?” The girl asked._

_“I have all the family I need right here,” Leah murmured, gazing fondly at her brother and husband._

_Leah heard Sam before she saw him. Dread curled in her gut as she stiffened, but everyone else stood around none the wiser._

_Out stepped Sam from the moss draped around them like white cobwebs, looking as handsome as ever in a white button down and dark denim. His slow clapping and calm swagger in his walk were at opposite poles with his angry expression._

_Everyone quieted, even Seth, at Sam’s panther-like approach._

_“It seems like congratulations are in order,” Sam said, deceptively calm._

_“What are you doing here?” Leah bit out._

_“You know why I’m here,” Sam purred. He gave her a lustful onceover. “You make a beautiful bride.”_

_“Who are you?” Laurent demanded. At the same time, Leah growled, “Get out of here, Sam!”_

_“This is where you’ve been staying? In a dump like this?” He glanced around the bayou with a smirk. “Sure doesn’t seem like this joker you’re marrying makes a lot of money to support you. Not like I could.”_

_“We’re going to do just fine,” Leah snapped._

_“As opposed to jetting around the world, killing without a care and getting paid bank to do it?”_

_“Yes,” Leah hissed. “I won’t let you kill Seth!”_

_Laurent grasped her forearm. “What the hell is he talking about?”_

_“He’s an abomination!” Sam roared, his eyes turning an ice blue. The buttons of his shirt popped one by one and his jeans began to tear as his muscles ballooned to an unbelievable size. He let out an ear-splitting howl. A chorus of howls answered._

_Leah was completely unprepared for the attack. Without her weapons, she would be useless against them. “Sam, no! You can’t do this!” she cried._

_Her pleas fell on deaf ears, and the bayou turned to chaos. Two giant wolves, silver and chestnut colored, descended from the thick of the forest, black lips curled back in snarls and saliva dripping from their maws. The officiant and his daughter screamed in terror, and they’re the first to be torn to shreds._

_Laurent tugged on Leah’s hand, tucking Seth against him like a football and urging her to run. She followed, but she knew they were done for. Turning your back to a wolf was a death sentence. The chase was only a game for them, and with their pitiful human speed the couple could only make it so far._

_A charcoal wolf with a dusting of white on its ears skidded in front of them, licking its black lips. It was the only thing that stood between the couple and their only hope of escape: a fishing boat on the marsh. Wolves were notoriously terrible swimmers, known to sink and drown in deep waters. They wouldn’t be able to follow in the water, and that could buy Leah some time to think of a better plan. But that was wishful thinking._

_The charcoal wolf charged at them, wasting no time raking its claws across Leah’s face. She screamed in horror and agony, clutching at her face as it gushed torrents of blood and burned like fire. She fell to the ground and tried to blink away the blood from her left eye, the other now rendered blind._

_Seth was sprawled on the mossy ground, red-faced and crying, kicking furiously at the air. The wolf had Laurent in its jaws, thrashing him like a rag doll. He screamed in pain and Leah covered her ears against the noise._

_“Run, Julia!” Laurent shouted. Even as the wolf was tearing into his bowels, he still thought of her safety. “Go, now!”_

_With a sob, Leah rushed forward to grab Seth as the other wolves began a slow, mocking trot toward them and ran for the boat. The adrenaline coursing through her veins allowed her to briefly ignore her agony, but she knew it wouldn’t last long._

_The boat engine hardly kicked on before the wolves ran near the edge of the marsh, snapping their teeth and growling at her as the boat sped forward. Their angry sounds were wrenched into silence when Sam walked behind them, his clothes now torn, staring after Leah with a blank expression. She stiffened, wondering what game they would play now._

_She didn’t have to wait long to find out._

_Long, pale white fingers grasped the edge of the boat, and a pair of red eyes broke the surface of the murky water with a laser focus on Leah. Long brown hair, turned teak from the water, floated along the surface in loose tendrils. Leah slowly shook her head as the creature began to crawl into the boat, silently baring sharp canines from an otherwise innocent, youthful face. She lowered Seth into a pile of blankets behind her and grit her teeth._

_“You fucking leech-”_

_The vampire lept, its arms like an iron cage around Leah’s body as they both plunged into the warm water. As they sank, the vampire pressed its fangs into Leah’s neck and drank from her artery. Leah’s blood left a red cloud in the water, and her strangled screams sounded empty underwater. She was being pumped full of a paralytic venom, the kind vampires use on their prey to ensure they stay still as they feed._

_Now limp, Leah panicked as water began to fill her lungs, but she couldn’t move a muscle in her body to do anything about it. The vampire pulled back, briefly smirking at Leah before it swam back to the surface, dragging Leah by one useless arm._

_Leah coughed and sputtered when they reached the surface. She was being dragged by the vampire still, the joint in her shoulder radiating with pain and the skin of her back screaming as it scraped against rocks and twigs. Without warning, her wrist was released, and Leah’s numb arm fell to the ground with a thud._

_“Do you think I’m sadistic?” Sam asked, standing over Leah’s battered body. His head cocked to the side._

_She ignored him in favor of trying to breathe through the agony as she painfully turned her head toward the direction of Seth’s cries on the boat. She just wanted to see his little face, to confirm with her own eyes that no one touched him._

_Sam crouched beside her head, blocking her view. He wiped her stinging face with a handkerchief that had his name embroidered on it with blue thread._

_“I’m sure you’re aware enough to know there’s nothing sadistic in my actions.” Sam paused to chuckle. “Well, maybe towards those other jokers…” He caressed her cheek, whispering, “But not you. Never you, Lee-Lee.”_

_Leah finally met his gaze, hurling all of her rage toward him with a glare from her one working eye. He knew how much she hated that stupid nickname he gave her. It was a nickname that used to suffuse her with love all the way to her bones, but now it filled her with pure hatred. Her eye socket burned as a violent red haze enveloped her vision._

_Sam straightened from his crouch and shook his head. “If you won’t be one of us, you can’t run around knowing our secret anymore. Liability and all.” He pulled a gun from his back pocket and aimed it toward her face with a bittersweet smile. “And Seth, well… I had high hopes for him, but he’s just another genetic disappointment.”_

_Leah wheezed, slowly shaking her head back and forth. “Sam,” she choked out. “He’s just a baby-”_

_Sam pulled the trigger, lodging a bullet in her head. He fired off a second shot, sending an additional bullet through her heart._

* * *

Leah flinches. The explosive bang of the gun is still ringing fresh in her ears. The bullet must’ve caused significant damage if she’d been comatose for four years. She draws in a ragged breath, frantically patting her neck, chest and face, but there’s no discernible scarring under her searching fingertips.

She snatches the metal tray by her bedside, knocking off the medical instruments on it. What appears in her reflection almost makes her scream. 

Ice blue eyes stare back at her, both intact. Her skin is unblemished, only flushed and glowing with the perfect picture of health. She tosses the tray to the ground, disgusted.

She crawls to the edge of the bed and lifts the clipboard from the folder on the frame.

JANE DOE

FEMALE

20s

COMATOSE. NO INJURIES UPON ADMITTANCE.

Leah flips through the rest of the pages, but there’s nothing of note. Nothing about her husband or her neighbors. Nothing about _Seth_.

The door opens, and she turns toward the sound with a growl. The male nurse freezes in shock, dropping the coffee cup in his hand. He squeaks, pointing a shocked finger in her direction.

“Y-Y-Y-You-You’re-”

Leah decides in that moment what her game plan is. She tosses the covers from her legs and leaps from the bed, landing on top of the nurse. He topples to the floor and whimpers in fear, opening his mouth to scream, no doubt. His cries are smothered by Leah’s hand.

“Shhhhh,” she cooes. The side of her hand slams into his neck, and the nurse is out cold.

She drags him to the corner of the room, patting his pockets. With his wallet and car keys in her possession, she quickly disrobes the nurse of his scrubs and puts them on. The clothes are a terrible fit, but she makes do.

The other nurses and doctors in the hallway give Leah funny looks as she briskly walks past them, but she doesn’t allow anyone enough time to ask questions. She takes the elevator to the garage and presses the panic button on the key fob. The alarm of a vintage red pickup truck goes off on the second level.

Leah turns the ignition and switches the radio on, checking the stations to get her bearings. They’re mostly familiar to her, and she takes that as a positive sign. Not quite near the safehouse, but still within the state of Louisiana.

Her mood plummets when she catches a glimpse of those stupid blue eyes in the rearview mirror. She screams in anger. Of all the times for the werewolf gene to finally decide to kick in, _why now?_ She was the first in her family of generations of werewolves to present as purely _human_. Seth suffered the same fate as the second, and he paid for it with his tiny life.

She hits the steering wheel once, and it dents under the force of her blow. She stops, staring in disbelief between her fingers, now sprouting claws, and the wheel. Another blink, and the claws return to her normal fingernails.

With an annoyed groan, Leah switches the gear into reverse and peels out of the parking garage. The hospital is three hours away from her home tucked in the backwoods.

By the time she arrives the moon is hanging in the sky and the swamp is swallowed in black. Her new eyes have no problem navigating in the dark now.

Her home, a cottage really, is rundown and unkempt from years of neglect. The door is unlocked, and the scents within have long gone stale. She drags a finger over a photo, covered in a thick layer of dust. 

It’s a photo of herself smiling at her baby brother, who’s laughing in joy at the funny face Laurent was making at him. She rips the picture from the fridge and presses it to her heart.

She sobs once, and it releases the floodgates she’d been holding back. The tears falling from her eyes seem endless. Loud, ugly sobs tumble from her mouth. She cries for Laurent and his untimely death. For the loss of their loving, beautiful relationship. For the loss of their home, built painstakingly from the ground up by their own hands. For the loss of her human life. For the loss of her sweet, innocent baby brother.

Conviction curls in Leah’s stomach, and it gives her enough strength to lift herself from the kitchen floor and into her old bedroom. She quickly dons her old clothes, now covered in dust and cobwebs, and pulls an old shoebox from her armoire. Fake passports and credit cards, cash, and a burner are inside. She tosses the necessities into a duffle bag and rushes to the front door.

Leah pauses, glancing around one last time. She pats the front door as a way of goodbye and speeds away from her almost-life without a look back. 

The airport is even further away, and the gas tank is just about empty by the time she arrives. She abandons the stolen truck in the parking lot and navigates through the windy maze of the airport until she finds the ticket counter.

She needs a weapon, a really fucking good one for this mission, and there’s only one place where she can get that kind of quality from.

The agent at the counter greets her with a smile. “Welcome to Hawaiian Airlines. How may I help you?”

“Molokai. One way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn't tell, the red pickup truck (a nod to Bella's truck!!!) replaced the Pussy Wagon ;)
> 
> Leave a comment if you like!


	3. the woman from molokai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SUPER humbled (and overwhelmed) by everyone's comments on this fic! I literally can't compute so I'm just gonna shut up and say thank you.

The afternoon sun beats down on Leah’s bare back and arms as she walks across the beach. Her soles are warmed by the gritty sand, and the incoming tides tickle her toes. She pauses, lifting her sunglasses to gaze at the sparkling blue ocean and the lush green mountains in the backdrop. Seagulls caw in the clear skies, and a gentle breeze makes her sundress flutter around her legs. It’s nothing short of a paradise here.

Leah stops in front of a hole-in-the-wall a few paces from the empty lifeguard post. Straw roofing provides shade over the concrete patio, and the lack of walls and windows allow for the breeze to freely weave through the empty restaurant. It’s silent, save for the fan sputtering on the bar’s counter and the low chattering of a TV in the back room.

A woman stands behind the bar, hacking away at a watermelon with a cleaver. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face in two braids that fall past her waist. She’s tall and tanned, dressed in a bright, oversized red top with a tacky floral print. She glances up at Leah with a smile on her face, and freezes.

The woman locks her gaze on Leah as she takes a step back. In a split second her eyes switch to an aquamarine and she snarls, instinctively reactive to an unknown werewolf breaching her territory. She remains eerily still except for her eyes, which frenetically rake over Leah’s form. Her nostrils flare once, and confusion shifts her expression.

“Your eyes haven’t cooled yet,” she realizes. “You’re a pup still.”

Leah nods sullenly. “A late bloom,” she confirms.

The woman finally relaxes her stance with a slight nod, granting Leah entry.

Leah ducks her head, loosening her own tense muscles and stepping past the invisible line that marks the woman’s domain. “Good afternoon...” Leah begins. She glances at the woman’s name tag and fights a smirk. “...Kim.”

“Aloha,” ‘Kim’ greets her with a renewed smile. “You don’t smell like a wolf, you know. But your scent is still… _other_. It’s unique.”

Leah nods, coming to a stop in front of the bar. “It’s been that way since I was born,” she replies. Her family didn’t know what to make of it, and neither did she.

‘Kim’ hums. “How interesting.”

Leah glances at the empty barstools, and her eyes catch on that tacky shirt again, noting the peculiar way the fabric is draped over her form. It takes her a second, but Leah’s ears prick at the sound of a soft, fluttering heartbeat. ‘Kim’ narrows her eyes and places a protective hand on her stomach, highlighting the swell hidden beneath her shirt.

Leah averts her eyes to show she's no threat. “Mind if I sit?”

“Go right ahead,” ‘Kim’ says, relaxing. She whips out a napkin and places it on the bar in front of Leah. “One second…” She turns around, cupping a hand around her mouth and yells, “Em, come take this customer’s order!”

There’s a groan, and a male voice yells back, “I’m watching my soap operas!”

‘Kim’ sneers. “That fucking brat,” she hisses. She stabs the cleaver into a cutting board. “Fuck your soap operas and bring your ass out here!”

Leah snickers. “He sounds like a lovely employee.”

‘Kim’ snorts. “My brother is a piece of work,” she grumbles. She slides a few wedges of watermelon toward Leah. “Sometimes I question if we’re related.”

“Hey!” the man yells indignantly.

‘Kim’ slams her fist against the counter, making Leah jump. “What the hell did I _just_ ask you to do, and why aren’t you doing it?!” she shouts. She snatches up the cleaver and begins to angrily chop the rind from a pineapple. “Lazy fucker…”

“Alright, alright already!” the man complains. “Goddamn hormonal woman…”

There’s stomping footsteps and the beaded curtain covering the entrance to the back room swishes to the side. The man steps out with a sour expression on his face. He’s even taller than his boss, with equally long hair pulled into a ponytail and black gauges in his ears. A well worn Metallica t-shirt is stretched taut over his lanky form. His hazel eyes bleed into blue when he sees Leah, but a _tch_ from the woman makes him settle.

He pouts and moves into Leah’s personal space, asking in a bored voice, “What do you want?”

Leah angles away from him with a quirk in her eyebrow. “A mai tai,” she responds.

The man looks incredulous as he leans against the counter, moving further into Leah’s face without much care. “A mai tai? In the middle of the day?”

‘Kim’ growls and points her cleaver at the man. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, Embry! If she wants a mai tai, then get her a fucking mai tai!”

Embry scowls. “Why do _I_ always have to get the drinks?” he demands. He grabs Leah’s stool, scurrying to her left side and pointing angrily at ‘Kim’ as he leans his head over Leah’s shoulder like her body is a shield. “Why can’t you get it for once?!”

“Because I’m the boss,” ‘Kim’ hisses, raising the cleaver threateningly. Embry backs away with a yelp. “Now shut up and get this woman her drink!”

Embry stomps toward the back door and pauses. “Maggie got poisoned by Heather,” he blurts out. He ducks out of the way with another yelp when ‘Kim’ shrieks in outrage and throws the cleaver toward his head.

“I _told you_ not to tell me any General Hospital spoilers!” she screams.

Embry’s laughter echoes in the back room, and Leah covers her mouth to hide her smile. ‘Kim’ rolls her eyes and yanks the cleaver out of the wall.

“Sorry about that…” she mutters, returning to her chopping. She glances up at Leah. “First time in Molokai? We don’t get much of our kind visiting around here.”

Leah nods. “Yes. I came to see a woman, actually.”

‘Kim’ wiggles her eyebrows. “You have a special lady friend in Molokai?”

“Not quite,” Leah says. “I’ve never met her.”

“You came all the way out here for someone you’ve never met before?” ‘Kim’ wonders at that. “May I ask who this mystery woman is? It’s a small island. I might know her.”

“You _would_ know her, since it’s you,” Leah says, resting her chin on her hands. “ _Rebecca Black_.”

She stops chopping, and in the back room glass crashes to the floor. “What do you want with me?” she asks in a light voice.

“I need a weapon.”

The Black family was renowned for making weapons imbued with wolf magic, designed to kill vampires. The art was passed down from several generations, and as the firstborn in the latest generation, born mere minutes before her twin sister, Rebecca was trained up to take the mantle as the next weapons master of the Black family.

“Why?”

“I have vermin to kill,” Leah replies in an even voice, clenching her fists on the bar.

Rebecca stares at her for a few seconds, assessing. She sets the cleaver down with a huff and turns the fan off. “Descriptive,” she mutters under her breath. She rips the name tag off and says in a clipped tone, “Come.”

She shimmies from behind the bar, calling over her shoulder for Embry to watch the shop while she’s gone. Leah follows her outside to a secluded area in the bushes. She watches Rebecca crouch with a grunt and brush some sand away, revealing a trapdoor. Rebecca lifts the hatch and gestures for Leah to go first.

Leah walks down the sandy stairs, yanking on a pull-chain that brushes against her shoulder. A light flickers on, and Leah is greeted by wall to wall shelves of Rebecca’s arsenal of weaponry. There’s an array of firearms and blades, and the hairs on Leah’s arms stand as she feels them all pulse with dangerous magic.

She reverently runs a finger against the shelves. Her eyes are bright as she takes everything in, full of excitement and trepidation all at once. Her hand reaches out for a sickle with a red gemstone embedded in the handle, but Rebecca’s voice makes her halt.

“Not that one,” Rebecca calls. Leah freezes, glancing over her shoulder at Rebecca watching her with careful eyes. “Try the second one down.”

Leah turns back to the shelf and her eyes dart to where Rebecca indicated. Her eyes land on a machete sheathed in a leather scabbard. Slowly, carefully, Leah lifts the machete from the shelf and shudders at the sheer power she can feel radiating from the leather alone. With a jittery laugh, she unsheathes the machete by an inch. A low hum emits from the blade as she stares into her reflection, and her eyes glow a brighter blue of their own accord.

She unsheathes the machete entirely, and the singing of the blade is even louder. She pants with the intensity of it, finding herself oddly aroused. A flush envelopes her cheeks.

“Funny,” Rebecca remarks, weighing a brick in her right hand. “You’re the first one to have that kind of reaction.”

She hurls the brick at Leah without warning. Leah reacts without thought, swinging the machete at the projectile. The brick breaks into two, and the sliced ends of the halves are charred and glowing. Small pillars of smoke rise from the blade.

Rebecca gives her a proud smile. “You have a lovely technique,” she says.

Leah nods her head, lowering her arms. “Thanks,” she whispers.

“But you should know, I’m not making any weapons at this time,” Rebecca informs her. She places a hand on her belly. “Not until Jacob Jr. is born. That kind of magic takes too much energy, and I’m already depleted from growing this little guy.”

“Then give me one of these,” Leah insists.

Rebecca holds her hand out for the machete. “These aren’t for sale. They’re either other people’s orders, or they’re being held for sentimental value.” She sheathes the weapon with a chuckle, returning it to the shelf and walking back to the stairs. “Besides, why should I help you?”

“Because my vermin, among many others, is Isabella Marie.”

Leah dodges a tanto knife thrown near her head. She turns to Rebecca with a snarl, but the woman is staring back at her with unseeing, hate-filled blue eyes. Her hand, frozen in the air from her throw, curls into a fist as she brings it back to her side. Her expression melts into an apologetic grimace.

The Black family’s hatred for Bella is soul deep and grievously personal; they all blame her for the death of their youngest boy, Jacob Black. Consumed with grief, Rebecca moved away from her homeland to the quiet island of Molokai when her father’s devastation over her younger brother's death became too much to live with.

“What did she do now,” Rebecca spits.

“Massacred my husband and friends,” Leah says without emotion. Her voice cracks with anger at her next words. “Helped kill _my_ little brother.”

Rebecca’s answering snarl makes Leah’s hair stand on end.

“So I’d say you have something to gain from this, too, don’t you think?” Leah whispers.

Rebecca sighs shakily, wiping a trembling hand across her eyes. “I truly can’t make you anything good in my condition,” she murmurs. “Embry will have to do it.”

“Is Embry-”

“Not the father. Sol is away on tour. Embry is my half-brother.” Rebecca shrugs. “He and Jacob were thick as thieves even before we found out. Em is just as capable as I am and he’ll be more than willing to do it. He has our father’s blood in him.”

Leah nods, mollified. “Alright.”

“You can stay with us,” Rebecca continues. “It’ll take a month to put something together for you.” Her eyes lock with Leah’s. “I suggest you spend that time soaking up as much sun as you can. This might be your last opportunity... You’ll be a wanted woman after this.”

* * *

A month later, Leah’s skin is bronzier than she ever thought it was capable of, and her eyes have finally returned to their original brown. She sits in front of a bonfire, and on the other side sits Rebecca and Embry, both dressed in the red and black regalia of their tribe. Sol, a silent, herculean sized man with black tattoos on his chest and forearms, sits on his knees dressed in a sarong a few paces behind them.

They’re seated on the beach, performing the gifting ceremony under the stars.

Embry presents her with the first weapon: a dagger. The handle is fashioned from jade, and the blade is pure silver. He holds the dagger out above the flames, and Leah gingerly takes it from him. She admires it in the light of the flames with a smile.

“We don’t usually fashion weapons to kill our own kind,” Rebecca murmurs, “but we’re making an exception given the… circumstances.”

Her second and final weapon is a katana, and it sings from within the wooden scabbard. Embry holds the bottom end of the scabbard and thrusts the katana into the flames. The scabbard remains unscathed and the symbols carved into it glow a bright red.

Leah pulls the handle to unsheathe the blade, and once again she is aroused by the blade’s serenade. Embry walks around the flames, holding the scabbard, and Leah sheathes it once more. She nods in thanks to the duo.

Embry’s face is a dark cloud. “It’s my finest work,” he intones. 

“Make sure that bitch knows where those blades came from,” Rebecca says in a quiet rage. “And send her straight to hell!”

Leah’s eyes burn as they turn blue. A wicked smile spreads on her face, and her teeth feel sharper than usual. “Yes,” she hisses.

That evening she books her flight back to her childhood home: Washington state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, Jacob is already dead. We'll find out the backstory behind that later.
> 
> Any guesses about who's first on the kill list?


	4. first

In the airport bathroom Leah changes out of her sundress into a pair of jeans and copper leather jacket. She dumps her old clothes into the garbage and makes her way to the rental car center. The young man at the counter only has dismal pickings left.

“Sorry, ma’am. We only have a Jeep or a Volvo available this afternoon,” he says. Neither of the vehicles look conspicuous in the least.

Leah sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Give me the stupid Volvo.”

After an hour’s drive Leah pulls her rental in front of a modest sized home in a quiet, suburban neighborhood. All of the houses look like clones of each other, equally spaced out with perfectly trimmed lawns and shrubbery. The siding of _this_ particular house is a periwinkle blue, and the window panels are a contrasting canary yellow. It’s an eyesore, and it makes Leah want to gag.

She yanks the keys from the ignition and steps out of the vehicle, pausing in front of the mailbox. The name ‘Wolfe’ is etched on the side. Curious, she opens the mailbox and skims through the envelopes stacked inside. They’re primarily addressed to a ‘Jacob Wolfe’ or ‘Eric Yorkie’ of 342 Deer Street in Neah Bay.

Of all the aliases, he had to choose _that_ one? 

Leah snorts, tossing the envelopes on the ground. She steps around the children’s toys that litter the lawn until she makes it to the porch, and rings the doorbell.

“Coming!” A deep voice calls out. The door opens. “Babe, since when are you home this early-”

Leah only allows Quil half a second to register who he opened the door to before her fist slams in his face with a satisfying crunch. She shakes out her hand with a grimace and watches with a sick fascination as the skin of her split knuckles seal back together.

Quil stumbles into a coffee table in the living room with a snarl. The glass shatters and the wood buckles beneath his weight. He stands, shaking the disorientation away from his gaze, and charges toward Leah like a bear as blue begins to bleed into his brown irises. 

As he approaches Leah feints left, and, like the gullible fighter he’s always been, Quil follows her motions. She dodges to the right when he stoops down to grab her and angles her leg to kick him in the groin. He lets out a pathetic shout and doubles over. Leah takes the opportunity to leap onto his broad back and hook her arms around his neck in a chokehold.

Quil’s meaty hands claw and punch at her arms, but her hold is steadfast. He chokes and sputters until he’s bright red in the face and falls forward. His hand frantically reaches out, grasping a pokerstick from the fireplace and whacking Leah in the forehead with it. 

Leah drops off of Quil’s back from the unexpected blow and blinks the stars out of her eyes. She brings her forearms up to block his continued hammering strikes. It rips at the sleeves of her leather jacket until she can feel the hits directly against her skin. She catches the pokerstick mid-strike when Quil changes the angle to stab her with it instead, and their arms violently shake in a match of strength.

It makes Leah huff. He hasn’t changed one bit.

Throughout their match, Leah knew Quil wouldn’t phase. Some idiotic part of him still balks at having an “unfair advantage” over Leah by fighting in his wolf form, a principle he followed since they first met and it became known that she would never turn into a werewolf like everyone else. He must not realize how Leah has changed, partly because of his infamously poor observation skills and general lack of thinking before charging headfirst. He was in for a surprise.

The pokerstick snaps in half under the pressure of their strength and they both jump away from each other. With matching sneers on their faces, they both readjust their grips on their severed halves of the pokerstick and slowly circle each other.

A school bus pulls to a stop in front of the house, and Quil hesitates. His eyes dart nervously between the window and the makeshift weapon in Leah’s hand. Leah follows his gaze.

The bus doors open, and a tiny girl with pigtails tied in frilly pink bows and a matching dress hops out. She skips across the lawn with a smile on her face, showing off several blank spaces where she’s missing baby teeth. The front door opens, and the girl calls out,

“Daddy, I’m home!” 

Leah and Quil are quick to straighten up when the girl fully walks through the door, and they hide the pokersticks behind their backs.

“H-Hey Claire Bear,” Quil pants with a quivering smile. “How was school?”

Claire stares in quiet shock at the carnage that is now the living room and the tousled appearance of the two adults in front of her. 

“Daddy…” she says in a trembling voice. Her eyes lock on Leah’s as she takes a hesitant step forward. “What happened to the living room?”

“You can’t come in here, Claire,” Quil says hastily. He gestures at the floor. “There’s, uh, there’s glass everywhere, see? You don’t want to get cut.”

Claire won’t take her eyes off Leah, who returns her stare with unnerving eyes. “Who’s she?”

“An old friend of daddy’s. We haven’t seen each other in… in a long time.” Quil looks at Leah for help, but she remains silent. “Claire Bear, this is-”

“How old are you, Claire?” Leah interrupts.

Claire swallows noisily and tightens her grip on the straps of her backpack. “I’m five.”

“Five? Wow,” Leah breathes. She turns her scathing eyes to Quil. “You know, I had a little brother once. He’d be about your age by now, too.”

Quil plasters on an even wider smile and steps toward Claire. “Claire Bear, my friend and I are having a grown up talk right now. Why don’t you go to your room and watch some TV, hm?”

Claire glances uncomfortably at Leah again. “But Daddy-”

“Claire!” Quil snaps. He tilts her chin up with his hand so she’ll have no choice but to look at him. “Go to your room, and don’t come out until I say so.”

Claire tentatively nods, walking past the living room with wet eyes still trained on Leah. Quil watches her disappear up the staircase to the second floor with a sigh, and he tosses the pokerstick away when the sound of a door closing reaches their ears. He turns to Leah with an annoyed expression.

“Do you want some coffee?” he grumbles.

Leah rolls her eyes, dropping her weapon on the floor, too. “Sure.”

She follows Quil into the kitchen, electing to stand near the counter. She watches as he picks through the cupboards to retrieve mugs. It’s strange seeing him in a domestic setting; his hulking frame looks out of place in the homely kitchen. He looks even stranger dressed in khakis and a striped polo. There’s even a pair of bunny slippers on his feet.

Those large hands of his, carefully working the tiny coffee machine on the counter, used to turn into claws at the drop of a hat and tear into his targets without much care. He used to run around exclusively in designer jeans, usually ripping them to shreds without a second thought when he phased, and with a quick swipe of his credit card he would simply buy another replacement pair. 

But that Quil, formerly known as Nighteyes, is no more. He’s been replaced by a domesticated, stay-at-home father named-

“Jacob Wolfe?” Leah asks drily. “Seriously?”

Quil glares at her from over his shoulder, and a blush stains the tips of his ears. “Shut up, Leah. You look like a goddamn oompa loompa with that tan, so you have no room to talk,” he growls, and it makes Leah smirk. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I guess it’s too late for an apology, huh?”

“You guess correctly.”

He stops his tinkering with the coffee machine and stalks toward Leah with a frown on his face and a steaming mug in his hand. “You can’t do this shit around my little girl, Leah.”

Leah takes the mug from him. “I won’t kill you in front of your daughter,” she assures him. “We can do this somewhere else. I know the area. You certainly didn’t stray far from home.” 

That made him one of the easiest people on her list to find, and why she chose him first. Their childhood home in La Push was only an hour out from here.

Quil squints, gauging her words. “You’re more rational than we ever gave you credit for.”

“I lack sympathy and forgiveness,” Leah murmurs, taking a sip of coffee. “Not rationality.”

Quil purses his lips. “Look, Leah, I know what I did was fucked up, and if I could take it back then I would. But I can’t.” He goes to the fridge and pulls off a picture of Claire cuddled with an Asian man who Leah can only assume is Quil’s partner. “You have to let this go, Leah. Do you want my baby to grow up without her daddy?”

Leah’s expression doesn’t change. Trying to dredge up family sympathy points won’t work on her, especially after that they did. “She still has her other daddy,” she points out. 

Annoyance flashes through Quil’s eyes. “I’m a different person now, Leah,” he pleads, exasperated.

“Congratulations! I don’t care,” Leah whispers. She leans her elbows against the counter, clutching the mug in her hands with a sneer. “Where do you wanna die, Nighteyes?”

“You’re funny, Frostfur,” Quil growls, throwing the photograph down. “Real fuckin’ funny!”

He lunges forward, fingers curved in front of him like claws as his bones shiver under his skin and his eyes glow once more. It seems like he’s disregarding his fair play rules for a quicker ending to this match.

Leah smirks, tossing her mug aside. Leaping over the counter, she meets Quil halfway in the kitchen. She pulls her arm back and swings unexpectedly, raking her own claws across his face.

Quil shouts in shock, clutching at the spewing gashes in his face. He crashes into the cabinets behind him and glass rains down. As he looks up with his good eye, Leah wastes no time stabbing him through the heart with her silver dagger. He jolts with a grunt and sinks to the ground. His hand drops from his face, and his eye is wide as blood seeps through the cotton of his shirt. 

“You… you’re a…wolf?” Quil rasps. 

Leah steps over him, snarling in his face. She feels a burning in her eyes as they glow the same shade of blue as his. Quil heaves once, twice, and his heart finally gives out. The blue in his eyes revert back to a dulled brown. 

She pants like a racehorse as she pulls the dagger out, listening to his skin sizzle from the silver, and watches with grim satisfaction as blood continues to weep from the wound.

Leah spins, holding the dagger out threateningly when she senses someone behind her.

Claire stands in the doorway with wide eyes and flecks of blood on her face, staring in mute horror. Leah curses under her breath and turns away, snatching a dish towel from the counter. She begins to clean off the gore from her dagger. 

“It wasn’t my intention for you to see this. I’m sorry about that.” She glances back at Claire. “But you can take my word for it... Your father had it coming.” 

Claire stares on, frozen and dumbfounded. 

Leah sticks the dagger back into her thigh holster and turns to face the little girl, bending at the knees until they’re eye level. “When you grow up and that wolf gene kicks in, and you still feel raw about this…” she whispers, gesturing at the cooling body of the girl’s father on the floor. “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

Still, Claire says nothing. Leah straightens with a sniff and pats Claire on the head as a goodbye, and makes her way out of the kitchen.

 _One down_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But did we catch that alias Quil used, though? Do y'all know where that's from? *wink wink*
> 
> So the assassin codenames. Both are names of fictional wolves from real books. 
> 
> Nighteyes description from wiki: "Confident, sarcastic, and carefree. He remains energetic and playful even after he has grown from a puppy to an adult wolf." Fitting for Quil's personality (in the books), I'd think. 
> 
> Frostfur description from wiki: "A cross, fidgety animal. Hostile personality. Complete opposite of her sister [who would be Emily, technically] who is gentle and sweet..." This is what Sam perceives Leah to be (and how the pack believed she was in the books). Obviously, they underestimate her and the facets of her personality!
> 
> Care to guess who's next?


	5. the lonely grave of riley biers

The disdain is evident on Sam’s face as he watches with a curled lip as a group of children clamor and climb around on his yellow Porsche. 

They’re unkempt looking kids dressed in second hand clothes and tattered sneakers. Sam swats their hands away when they brush their sticky fingers against the expensive material of his clothes as he walks past them.

He removes his D&G sunglasses with an exasperated sigh. “ _These_ are the kind of people you choose to live with?”

Typical Sam. Always looking down on people who he thought were lesser than him (which was nearly everyone on the face of the planet). Once Sam got his hands dirty and started earning larger and larger sums of money, he was never the same.

Paul shifts in his lawn chair, shirtless, and he smirks when Sam comes to a stop in front of him. He never liked that about Sam, his _Alpha_ and brother. Sam likes to forget where they came from and the little they grew up with in La Push.

“Not too long ago this is how _we_ used to live when we were kids, remember?”

“Sure,” Sam replies. Still, the grimace won’t leave his face. “But we haven’t needed to live like this for a long time.”

“I like it here,” Paul quips.

It was true. The little trailer park Paul lives in was exactly where he used to live when he was a kid, before he moved to the reservation with his father. It’s in a poor neighborhood of Tacoma, which, to Paul, is the most ideal place to live as a retired assassin.

The other trailer homes are spaced far from his own, and his neighbors mind their own business. No one knows him here. No one bothers him or asks him questions.

The most attention he gets is from the cops, who generally watch the neighborhood like vultures and peck at anyone who exhibits “suspicious” behavior. Paul scares them off every time, and they eventually learn to stay away from him, but a few still come every now and then. They only feel brave in numbers; all bark and no bite. Paul has plenty of bite for them.

“Or did you blow all your money on hookers again?”

Paul narrows his eyes. “That was one time, and it was for fun,” he growls. He doesn’t _need_ to pay anybody for sex. People fall at their feet just for one night with _him_. “I keep it all in my mattress.”

Sam snorts. “What good is it doing in there?”

“Why are you here?” Paul snaps. The incessant small talk was another thing he dislikes about Sam. He could never get to his point without giving a stupid monologue first; his brother loves the sound of his own voice.

Sam pushes Paul’s feet off the cooler serving as his footrest and takes out a beer. He throws another one to Paul and takes a few gulps before he speaks. Paul watches him impatiently.

“Leah killed Quil,” Sam finally says. “Her eyes were blue. Claire saw it. She’s a wolf now.”

Paul whistles. “She cut down Quil? In front of his _daughter_?”

Sam rolls his eyes at Paul’s question and shrugs. “One could argue we cut down all of her friends in front of Seth, so…”

“Women sure do know how to hold a grudge, don’t they?” Paul laughs humorlessly. He pauses, tipping his beer bottle toward Sam. “Or maybe, you just tend to bring that out in her...” He shakes his head. “You should’ve shot her with silver bullets, man.”

“She was human then. We couldn’t have known she’d make the first phase.” Sam quirks his head to the side. “Will you fight her if she comes?” he asks quietly. 

Paul takes a sip of his beer. “I’m a fuckin’ bouncer in a titty bar now, man. If Leah wants to fight with me all she has to do is come down to the club, start some shit, and then we’ll go at each other. It’ll be just another day on the job.”

“This isn’t a joke, Maugrim,” Sam snaps, using that ridiculous codename of his for the first time in years. “You need to start taking this seriously, because it won’t take Leah long to guess where you are, and she’ll come to kill you.”

Paul shrugs. “I don’t dodge guilt, Sam. That woman deserves her revenge, and we deserve to die,” he murmurs, staring absently into the horizon. He downs the rest of his beer and trains his eyes on his brother. “Whatever happens will happen. So I guess we’ll just see who comes out of this alive then, won’t we?”

* * *

Paul shows up to the bar later that evening for a shift, standing by the door to check IDs and kicking out anyone who gets too rowdy, but Leah is a no show.

The flimsy costumes of the dancers glitter under the pink strobe lights as they dance on the platform stages. Singles are thrown in the air and scatter across the floor. Sultry music pulses from the overhead speakers. Half naked women and unsavory looking men mill about.

It looks like just another average night, but Paul knows better. He knew Leah wouldn’t come here. It was never her style to kill in front of a crowd. She likes to catch her prey in a private setting, somewhere they would least expect an attack.

No, Leah wouldn’t attack Paul here, but she would show up at his trailer. Leah’s moves were always so predictable.

Paul laughs at the thought, but his eyes are glued on the stage as his favorite dancer completes her final set in a split that drives all the men surrounding her wild. She catches Paul’s eye as she collects her tips and walks over to him. Even in six inch stilettos, she’s still smaller than him.

She plucks a dollar from her leopard thong and brushes Paul’s face with it. “Like what you saw up there?”

“Lauren,” he growls, pulling the bleach blonde close by her hips and playfully nipping at her neck.

Lauren laughs breathily, pushing at his shoulders. “Hands off the merchandise, Lahote.”

“Come home with me tonight,” he whispers in her ear. 

She shivers, pretending to think about it, but there’s no doubt that she will agree. Paul is _her_ favorite, too, after all. The other dancers he’s been with are subpar, but a decent lay nonetheless. Lauren is one of the better ones– she’s the only human around here who’s been able to take every last inch of him without too much fuss. And the things she could do with her mouth were _divine_.

“What’s in it for me?” she asks, playing coy.

Paul raises a brow. “Besides the best fuck of your life?” She bites her lip at that. “I have something fun we can do tonight.”

“Oh?”

Paul licks his lips. “When the time comes, I’ll do this,” he pauses, sinking his teeth into the flesh of her ear, “and you’ll have to be _real_ quiet. Then the fun starts. You in?”

Two hours later, he’s balls deep in Lauren and she’s loudly enjoying every minute of it. His bed rams against the wall of his tiny trailer, and knick knacks around them skew about and fall to the ground. The whole trailer is rocking with the force of his thrusts.

Lauren is beneath him, screaming and sweaty, but her makeup doesn’t budge. She rakes her acrylic nails across his back and her stiletto clad feet curl in the air. Her eyes watch the hypnotic rhythm of his hips slamming against hers with a gleam of dazed astonishment before she throws her head back in pleasure.

“You’re a goddamn animal tonight,” she moans.

Paul laughs. If only she knew.

He finishes inside of Lauren with a roar and collapses on top of her. She cradles his head against her chest, murmuring slurred praises of his performance as she runs her fingers through his hair.

Paul circles a finger around her belly button, absently wondering if she insisted on forgoing a condom for a particular reason. Women tend to think he’ll have something grand to offer them if they secure a child from him, sensing something otherworldly about him. He doesn’t mind– Paul has plenty of bastards running around all over the globe, including a few in the bellies of some of the women living in the trailer park. What was one more?

He tenses when the hairs on the back of his neck prickles, anticipating danger nearby. It could only be one person… No one from the trailer park, not even the cops, would dare to approach his trailer at this hour, let alone with killing intent. He bites Lauren’s ear to silence her and walks to the window above the kitchenette’s sink.

Glancing out, he sees nothing and smirks. He grabs a cup from the counter and fills it with tap water, chugging it in one go. So she’s playing it like that, huh?

Paul stands by the front door, the only real way to enter his home, and gestures for Lauren to come to him. Her heels are silent against the grimy carpet as she makes her way toward him. He pulls a double barrel shotgun from an overhead cabinet and stands behind Lauren, wrapping his arms around hers and positioning her hands in the proper positions on the barrel. They stand in complete silence and nudity, waiting.

The front door flies open. Paul presses his finger over Lauren’s to pull the trigger, and with a loud, crashing boom a figure soars through the air and lands several feet away. Lauren shrieks and giggles in delight, dancing back and forth on her feet. Paul laughs with her, taking the shotgun and slowly walking out of the trailer.

None of his neighbors bother to investigate the noise, just as he likes.

Paul slings the shotgun over his shoulder as he comes to a stop. As he suspected, it was Leah at his door. Now she lies at his feet.

“Bet that stings like a bitch,” he grimaces.

His eyes catch on the silver dagger glinting under the street light. Seeing the insignia of the Black family makes him huff with laughter, and he kicks the weapon out of reach.

“Rebecca made you that? Women really _do_ hold grudges,” Paul remarks with a shake of his head. He empties the barrel and shows off one of the hollow shells. “Too bad you didn’t account for a double dose of silver shrapnel in your tits, huh?”

Leah glares at him, coughing up blood and wheezing. The leather jacket she’s wearing is embedded with tiny, jagged pieces of silver and blood splatter. Paul can easily pick up on the sound of her skin sizzling underneath that layer of leather.

Paul crouches beside her head and smirks. “I always thought you had a nice rack.”

Leah’s eyes turn blue as she spits at Paul. Blood and saliva smack Paul’s cheek. She tenses, bracing herself, but Paul simply roars with laughter. He stands, kicking Leah until she flips onto her stomach and jams a needle full of sedatives into her ass. She stills within a minute.

“Lauren, baby,” he calls. Her green eyes peek out from the doorway. “There’s some chains in the trunk by the bed. Bring ‘em out and tie her up, would ya?”

Lauren scurries out of the trailer in her heels and a lacy black robe, and she quickly approaches an unconscious Leah with the chains. He can feel his eyes burning blue from the adrenaline, but Lauren doesn’t bat an eye. She always suspected _something_ was off about him, like all of his bed partners do, but she wisely keeps her mouth shut.

Paul retrieves his cellphone and a beer from his trailer before he comes back outside and settles in his holding chair as he watches Lauren secure the chain around Leah. He dials one of the few numbers programmed into his phone and waits for an answer.

“Sammy?”

“Wrong brother, ya hateful bitch,” Paul says.

Emily sighs on the other end of the line. “Paul… what are you calling me for?”

“You’ll never guess who I just caught,” he sings.

Emily pauses. “Is she dead?”

“Not yet.”

“She’s _my_ kill. Not yours! Mine! _I_ was the one who was supposed to kill her. Sam sent _me_ first!”

“Sam called you off the first time, and for whatever dumb reason you listened to him,” Paul reminds her. “It’s a fair game, now. Finders keepers and all that. But don’t worry, Em. I’ll make sure she suffers.”

“Paul-”

“If you wanna visit her grave, come by in the morning. I’ll give you all the gory details in person.”

“PAUL-”

He hangs up before the harpy can scream his ear off anymore than she already has.

“All done,” Lauren chirps, dusting her hands off.

Paul waves her over as he dials another number in his phone. As Lauren gets closer, he spreads his legs and her eyes rake over him hungrily. She wastes no time getting to her knees and working magic with her mouth on him. He purrs and fists a hand in her short locks, forcing her down further. She doesn’t protest, only looking up at him with her sultry green eyes.

The phone finally stops ringing, and a groggy voice answers. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jared– Oh _, fuck._ Shit, that’s good!” Paul pulls the phone away from his ear, watching Lauren bob up and down. That trick with her tongue never fails. She winks at him.

“Dude, ew,” Jared complains.

“Shut up. I got a job for you. Bring a shovel and your truck,” Paul says.

“You better be paying me…”

“I said it’s a _job_ , didn’t I?!”

* * *

Paul walks over to the bed of the truck when Leah’s coughing alerts him that she’s awake. He peers over the edge, staring down at her with a smirk.

“Rise and shine, bitch,” he says sarcastically. 

He grabs Leah by her ankles and drags her from the truck. As expected, she doesn't say a word to him. She merely glares, turning her eyes from him to her left, where Jared is finishing up with digging a six foot, coffin-sized hole into the ground of a neglected cemetery.

A shovel is tossed from the hole first, and then Jared leaps from it and lands in a crouch. He stretches his arms to the sky before walking over until he’s beside Paul.

“Holy shit, look at those eyes,” Jared whistles. “Brightest blues I’ve ever seen. She’s _pissed_.”

Paul chuckles. “Shoulda seen what we did to her the first time.”

“Jesus,” Jared mutters under his breath. “I’ll get her feet, you get the head?”

Paul shrugs, grasping Leah’s arms. Naturally, she struggles against them both until Paul abruptly drops her and shoves a can of mace directly in front of her eyes. She freezes up, and her shrieks are swallowed into silence.

“See this? It’s not that regular shit. _This_ has silver particles in it,” Paul whispers. “You’re going in the ground and I’m gonna bury you, like it or not. Now… you can either shut the fuck up and go in peacefully, or I’ll finish this whole can in your eyes and bury you anyway. It’s your choice.”

Leah averts her eyes and bares her neck to him. They grab her arms and legs again, and although she’s stiff as a board, Leah doesn’t fight them when they throw her into the coffin. 

The inside is coated in a layer of pure silver. If it weren’t for the layer of protection offered by her hair and clothes, her skin would immediately start to boil. Leah stiffens even more, her eyes darting around frantically as she realizes the predicament she’s in.

Paul pauses, staring down at Leah as he holds onto the silver lid of the casket. It sizzles under his hands, but his expression remains empty.

“Any last words?” he asks.

Leah silently stares back at him with wide, hate-filled eyes. She was always such a frosty little bitch.

“This is for breaking my brother’s heart,” Paul says with a nonchalant shrug. Sam was devastated when Leah ran off.

Leah looks like she wants to spit on him again. She sucks in a sharp breath when the lid is secured over the coffin. With each slam of their hammers, he can hear her whimpers grow louder as he and Jared work together to seal the coffin shut. 

When the last nail is in, Paul kicks the coffin into the hole with a grunt. Leah shrieks as it lands in with a resounding thud.

The duo quickly shovel the dirt back over the coffin, and Leah’s muffled sobs and gasps of panic slowly get drowned out until the last layer of soil is laid down within minutes. Any noise she makes won’t be discernible to the human ear anymore.

Paul and Jared straighten, dusting their hands off. They stare at their handiwork with matching smirks on their faces.

Here lies Leah Clearwater, buried alive under the headstone of Riley Biers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maugrim description from wiki: "A ferocious talking grey wolf in Narnia... He was also one of the White Witch's [AKA Sam's] most loyal followers, and was known for his cruelty to the other Narnians." The books made Paul seem like some unreasonable hothead but very loyal to Sam, and his wolf is also gray in canon!
> 
> Sam's codename is "Alpha" and that's not from anything in particular. He was the alpha in the books so... *shrug*
> 
> Lauren is Lauren Mallory, the "evil" human girl that disliked Bella in the books. Jared is NOT part of the assassination squad, but he IS a werewolf.
> 
> Paul is still above ground, but not for looong. But how is Leah getting out of that coffin? ;)


End file.
